


Count To Four

by orphan_account



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Splinter has PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25056772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mikey helps Splinter ground himself.
Relationships: Michelangelo & Splinter (TMNT)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 65





	Count To Four

**Author's Note:**

> rated "T" for a short, but frank, depiction of a ptsd flashback that probably wouldn't fly on nicktoons. btw, let me know if i got anything wrong about ptsd/flashbacks/dissociation. i'm ready to listen and learn

Splinter found himself in captivity once again, trapped inside a tiny cage—one of hundreds lining the walls of the dark, resonant cavern. His fellow prisoners chittered and yelped, their alien odors filling the air like a thick fog. Every time he tried to break out of his restraints, they got tighter. When he screamed, his words were drowned out by cruel laughter and the sickening _thunk_ of a lever.

Suddenly, a small, but clear, voice rang out through the murk.

_Pops, are you OK?_

The voice drew him back toward the present. It was as if Splinter had been in freefall and someone had just thrown down a rope. Now he was hanging on for dear life, no longer plunging into his past, but not yet strong enough to climb to salvation.

_Pop, it’s Mikey. You’re in the TV room with me._

Splinter gasped as his vision came back into focus. He was in the den, in his favorite chair, with his youngest son sitting on the floor beside him. But, even though he could no longer see them, he still felt the faint sensation of vines digging into his wrists.

Then, Splinter met Mikey’s eyes and, as if by instinct, unclenched his fists. "My son."

"My dad!" beamed Mikey, no doubt delighted to see his father safe and lucid again. Noticing the way Splinter clutched at his chest, Mikey added, "Maybe you should do the breathing exercise you taught me. Remember? With the four?"

"Ah, right, right," mumbled Splinter. Exhale on the count of four. Inhale—slowly—on the count of four. Hold that breath. Release on four. Repeat until your tiny rodent heart stops pounding. "OK, OK. That’s a little better."

"'Kay, now look around the room and tell me what you see," said Mikey. "Um, count five things. Or… count everything that’s orange."

Splinter suppressed a grin, amused that his son, though he was wise beyond his 13 years, immediately gravitated toward his favorite color. "Well, there’s your mask," he said. "And… that bean bag chair. And the cheese on that moldy old pizza I told you boys to throw out. How many times must I ask—"

"Uh, ha ha, skipping over that," Mikey deflected. "What else?"

"Ah…" Splinter hesitated, wishing his son had chosen an easier color. "Oh! The cat."

"The what now?" said Mikey. Splinter pointed at a drawing affixed to the fridge with a license-plate-shaped magnet bearing the name SPENCER. It depicted an orange tabby wearing a multicolor crown and what looked like jet-powered skates. "Aww! That was from my 'Animals in Rollerblades' period," cooed Mikey. "Man, I was so young then."

Splinter chuckled at the boy’s precociousness and cradled Mikey’s cheek. Mikey nuzzled his father’s paw in turn, eyes closed contentedly. Splinter smiled, knowing that, no matter how old they got, his sons’ faces would always fit perfectly in his hands.


End file.
